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The Thebaid

Page 53

by Publius Papinius Statius


  made sacred by the misery of men.

  The goddess never lacked for supplicants;

  no prayer was ever censured or denied.

  Whoever asked was heard, and night and day

  one might approach and, merely by lamenting,

  enlist the goddess. Rituals were few:

  no flames or bloody rites or frankincense.

  Tears soaked the altar, and above it hung

  sad o√erings of women’s severed hair

  and clothing left behind when Fortune changed.

  Within its sacred, reverential grove

  were laurels twined with wool and humble olives,

  but e≈gies were lacking—no medallions,

  no image of the deity who dwells

  in human minds and animates men’s hearts.

  She welcomes those in peril, and the poor

  flock to a shrine the fortunate ignore.

  • The story is that sons of Hercules

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  founded this altar when the deity

  (their father) died and they were saved in battle.

  But fame falls short of truth; the facts are these:

  the gods themselves, to whom the land of Athens

  had always given hospitality,

  hallowed a common forum as a refuge

  for needy souls—just as they once gave laws,

  a new man, sacred rites, and seeds that fall

  on empty fields—so that the wrath and threats

  of tyrants be kept distant and the altars

  of justice be uninfluenced by Fortune.

  Now countless nations worshiped at this shrine:

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  those who lost wars, exiles from native lands,

  those dispossessed of rule or charged with crimes

  although they lacked intention. Such came there

  ≥∂∂ STATIUS, THE THEBAID

  to seek asylum, an abode of welcome.

  • It sheltered Oedipus from Furies once,

  • protected the besieged Olynthians,

  • and hid distraught Orestes from his mother.

  Directed by the commoners, the band

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  of Argive women anxiously approached,

  and those unfortunates already there

  yielded their places. Instantly their hearts

  found rest and moderation for their cares,

  just as the cranes that flee their native winds

  • fill southern airs with joy when they see Pharos:

  they love the gentle weather, taunt the snows,

  and let the Nile assimilate their cold.

  –?–?–?–

  • After his bitter wars in Scythia,

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  Theseus drove his laureled chariot

  back to his native country. Joyful shouts

  rang out; the peoples’ voices reached the stars.

  Before him came the spoils of war and cars—

  the image of the cruelty of Mars—

  that women drove, and there were wagons heaped

  with crests drawn by sad steeds and broken axes

  the Amazons employed to cut down forests

  • and chop Maeotis’ ice. They also bore

  light quivers, fiery baldrics pocked with gems,

  and blood-stained, half-moon shields the women used.

  They did not tremble or admit their sex

  or moan like rabble; they refused to beg

  and only sought unspoused Minerva’s altar.

  The leading passion of the people was

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  to see the victor driving snow-white steeds:

  nor did Hippolyta draw less attention,

  as she, with kind regard, endured the bonds

  of marriage. The Athenian women marveled—

  they murmured and exchanged oblique regards—

  to see her break her country’s rigid custom

  by covering her bosom with her cloak.

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  She hid her breasts, and she had trimmed her hair.

  Although barbarian, she graced great Athens

  and came to bear her warlike husband children.

  The mournful Argives moved back from the shrine

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  on which they had been seated to admire

  the long line of the triumph and its riches

  while thoughts of fallen husbands filled their minds.

  When Theseus slowed his chariot enough

  to lend an ear and ask them to explain

  • what caused their prayers, the wife of Capaneus

  responded boldly to his invitation:

  ‘‘O warlike son of Aegeus, Fortune gives

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  you unsought paths to glory through our fall.

  We are no foreign race; no common guilt

  infects us. Home is Argos, and our husbands

  were princes—also fighters, to our sorrow.

  What was the point of raising seven armies

  to castigate the city of Agenor?

  But deaths are not the cause of our complaint;

  such things occur; it is the law of war,

  yet those who fell in battle were not monsters

  from caves in Sicily or biformed Centaurs

  from Ossa. I will spare you family names,

  but they were men, and born of men, great Theseus!

  They took their being under these same stars,

  su√ered your common destiny, and ate

  the food you eat. Now Creon outlaws flames

  and bans their passage through the gates of Styx

  as if he were the Lethean ferryman

  or father of the Furies. He suspends

  their ghosts between the poles of hell and heaven.

  ‘‘O Nature, source and origin! Where is

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  the godhead, he who hurls judicial lightning?

  And where are you, Athena? The seventh dawn

  has risen, but your shy steeds shun the slain.

  The brilliance of the bright celestial spheres

  diminishes. Rays flicker. Savage beasts

  ≥∂Π STATIUS, THE THEBAID

  and birds of prey avoid the noxious fare.

  Fields waft fouled air that weighs the winds and skies.

  Help us to gather bare bones, putrid flesh:

  I do not think that very much survives.

  ?’’Athenians—good sons of Cecrops—hurry!

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  Lay down the law—your cause is just—before

  • Emathians and Thracians come to grief,

  as well as any others who believe

  in final rites and flames for those deceased.

  We fought, but rage must end. Death blunts grim hatred.

  We know your reputation for great deeds:

  who else will limit Creon’s savagery?

  • You do not leave your dead—foul Cercyon

  • and Sinis—to wild beasts, for you decreed

  • that even wicked Sciron be cremated.

  Here you return with bands of Amazons

  whose tombs, no doubt, still smoke along the Don—

  so you enhance your triumph. Do this deed

  for earth and hell and heaven. As you freed

  from fear your homelands—Marathon and Crete—

  do not distress old Hecale, who saved you.

  So may Athena aid you in your wars

  and sacred Hercules not envy your

  actions, which equal his. And may your mother

  see you triumphant in your chariot,

  always and always, and may none of Athens

  su√er defeat and beg, as I am doing.’’

  She spoke, and all the women raised their hands

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  in supplication and began to clamor,

  • moving Neptunian Theseus to tears.

  In righteous indignation he exclaimed:

  ‘‘What Fury caused this custom in that kin
gdom?

  No one was so inclined when I left Greece

  to seek the Euxine snows and Scythia.

  What moved such madness? Ill-abiding Creon,

  did you think Theseus beaten? I am here,

  and do not think that I am sick of killing!

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  My spear still thirsts for blood that should be spilled.

  Let there be no delay! My faithful Phegeus,

  turn your horn-footed steed and ride to Thebes.

  Don’t hesitate! Say they must give the Greeks

  their funerals and pyres or hear from me.’’

  He spoke these words, nor did he let the wars

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  or rigor of his travels interfere.

  He spurred his men, and he renewed the weary,

  just as a bull reclaims his fields and females

  after a battle, but if forests echo

  the chance arrival of some challenger,

  he will prepare for battle, bellow, paw

  the ground, and cover wounds with dust and dirt

  because his head and neck drip from his hurts.

  –?–?–?–

  Athena struck the image of Medusa,

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  the Libyan terror pictured on her shield—

  she who protects her heart. Her serpents rose

  at once and as a unit gazed at Thebes.

  Even before the Attic army marched,

  unhappy Dirce feared their trumpets’ cries.

  Fresh from the Caucasus, the troops rearmed,

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  and farming districts sent rude sons to war.

  • They gathered—those who furrowed freezing Brauron,

  • Monychia’s fields, or Marathon (not yet

  • famed for her Persian conquest), or Piraeus,

  where swaying sailors stand on solid ground.

  These ranked themselves behind their leaders’ banners.

  True to their native gods—hospitable—

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  • Icarius and Celeus armed their squadrons,

  • as did the rich groves of Aegaleos;

  • verdant Melaenae; Parnes, fit for vines;

  • and Lycabessos, best for brimming olives.

  Frightful Alaeus marched, and he who plowed

  • fragrant Hymettus and, Acharnae, you

  whose ivy twists around ill-figured thyrsi.

  ≥∂∫ STATIUS, THE THEBAID

  • Soldiers left Sounion, seen from far away

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  by eastern sailors, there where Aegeus fell

  into the wandering sea that took his name

  when he was, by his ship’s false sails, deceived.

  • Salamis sent her people, and Eleusis,

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  the town of Ceres. They hung up their plows

  • and went to war. Callirhoe sent those

  whom her nine winding rivers circumscribe,

  so too Ilissos, who watched Boreas,

  • the Thracian rapist, snatch Orithyia,

  but nonetheless concealed him on her shores.

  • That hillside sent its people to the wars

  where once the gods contended, till a tree

  grew from the cli√s and cast its long, new shadow

  over the ebbing seas. Hippolyta

  would have gone too and led her northern troops

  but the sure hope of her expectant womb

  restrained her, and her husband recommended

  that she retire from war and sacrifice

  her well-worn quiver for a bride’s attire.

  When Theseus saw his eager army shine

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  with pleasing weapons, snatching kisses from

  children who love them, and their brief embraces,

  he stood in his high chariot to say:

  ‘‘You who defend the universal rights

  and laws of men, prepare your worthy hearts

  for this our enterprise, since it is clear

  that Nature leads us, that we have the favor

  of gods, men, and the silent ghosts of hell.

  For their part, they enlist a band of Furies:

  serpent-haired sisters lead the Theban banners.

  March joyously, I pray, and trust our cause.’’

  He spoke, then hurled his spear to start the march

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  like cloudy Jupiter when he draws nigh

  the north pole and, at winter’s first approach,

  makes the stars tremble and sets Aeolus

  at liberty. Then winter, whom long quiet

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  has left indignant, whistles Arctic winds.

  Then waves and mountains welter. Darkling clouds

  battle. Mad lightning celebrates with thunder.

  Beaten, earth groaned. Strong hooves upturned green

  meadows.

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  Trampled fields died beneath the countless waves

  of men and horses, and their armor shone

  through clinging clouds of dust, and from afar

  it glistened and their lances gleamed through clouds.

  Men added night’s soft shadows to their labors

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  and vied to keep the army up to speed,

  to see who, from some hill, would first spy Thebes,

  whose lance would first attack Ogygian walls.

  But far away Neptunian Theseus dwarfed

  • his army with his great shield. It displayed

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  the hundred cities and the hundred walls

  of Crete—the origins of his renown—

  where in the windings of a monstrous cave,

  he twists a bull’s rough neck with both his hands.

  His muscled arms constrain the animal;

  he keeps his head withdrawn to dodge its horns.

  Terror takes hold of men when Theseus,

  armed with that fearsome image, goes to war,

  for they see double hands, twice drenched in gore.

  He broods upon his former deeds himself,

  his band of comrades, the once fearful threshold,

  • the clue he followed, Ariadne’s pallor.

  –?–?–?–

  Meanwhile that ru≈an Creon had commanded

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  the widowed daughter of Adrastus and

  Antigone to die. He chained their hands

  behind their backs, but both of them rejoiced.

  Proud, and in love with death, they stretched their necks

  for execution, just as Phegeus brought

  an embassy from Theseus. He extended

  an olive branch in peace but his demand

  was bellicose. He threatened and repeated

  the words of his commander, making clear

  ≥Σ≠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID

  that Theseus approached and that his cohorts

  already covered intervening fields.

  The Theban Creon wavered in some doubt;

 

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